


Masks

by Kuraagins



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:12:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7861336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuraagins/pseuds/Kuraagins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark finally received an invite to one of Lord Littlefinger's notorious parties, the man who had been slowly corrupting her for the past year.</p><p>Written for PxS week day 3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masks

**Author's Note:**

> Lowkey I worked on this for weeks and I still hate it so, if you do somehow happen to enjoy it I would really appreciate a comment  
> Thanks for reading <3

The invitation had come a week prior. Slipped under her bedroom door on the top floor of the Stark Manor. Sansa Stark had been reading, so engulfed in her book that she didn't hear the paper slip onto her floor. If she had she would have rushed up to speak with the man himself. 

Sansa Stark, 

You are cordially invited to Lord Littlefinger's Masquerade Ball held in the honour of Prince Oberyn of Dorne and his safe arrival in London. The ball will commence on the 23rd of September, 9pm sharp at the Mockingbird ballroom on King's Road. Invitations will be checked upon arrival. 

Yours sincerely,  
Petyr 'Littlefinger' Baelish 

The invitation had the man's notorious mockingbird seal in the bottom left corner, proving its legitimacy. Sansa grinned, mind racing with ideas of what she could wear to this grand party. She was determined to be one of the most beautiful ladies there. Although she had never been to a proper grown-ups ball before, Sansa was sure that it couldn't be too different than the ones that she had been to before with her family. 

Petyr Baelish worked closely with her father and King Robert. Sansa had met him quite a few times over the course of the Stark family's first year in the capital city. At dinner parties, at royal court sessions, and occasionally he visited the Stark manor to discuss business matters with her father. 

She liked Baelish, she did. Most people would assume that their relationship didn't go past their brief small talk at business functions. Most people were wrong. With polite smiles in public the two masked their hidden association, their secret conversations that were held as they tucked themselves away in locked rooms and concealed corners. Petyr whispered to her. Secrets of the people and places of the capital city. Taught her of dangerous new things and ideas that made her shiver with excitement. 

It had started off innocent enough, when Joffrey had cast Sansa aside for the more mature and prettier Margaery Tyrell, Sansa couldn't help but want some secrets on the young boy who had hurt her physically and emotionally. Who in Kings Landing did she know would have such information? Since she did not trust Lord Varys to not tell her father that she had been digging around for dirt on the prince, she went to the man who had treated her most kindly compared to her father's other associates; Lord High Treasurer, Petyr Baelish. 

And the Lord did not disappoint, telling Sansa of all sorts of shocking habits that the prince had, not to mention the truth of his parentage: that his father and uncle were one in the same. The young lady could scarcely believe that her father had almost let her marry a bastard born of incest! 

Sansa, of course, would never tell anyone of the truths that Baelish had told her. The crown would have both of their heads for that. But Sansa was content in knowing these awful little secrets all by herself. 

As time went on though, their secret meetings became more frequent. The secrets became more scandalous, Lord Baelish telling her about the pleasure houses that he owned, the huge amounts of gold he earned from these women who sold their bodies, and (Sansa's favourite tales) what strange perversions certain Lords and Dukes enjoyed partaking in. 

A few months ago was when Baelish had started to kiss her, as she got all flustered by these tales. A mere peck on the cheek the first time it happened, but then it was her lips, her neck, her chest, the tops of her breasts... And then recently, she had been unladylike enough to let out a soft whimper as he sucked on her neck. 

He grinned his sinful grin as she blushed and babbled profuse apologies. 

"There's no need for you to be sorry, sweetling," he had chuckled into her ear, and her breath hitched as his hand moved from her hip to lift up her skirts. And after that, every time they met Petyr would touch her between her legs, the young girl burying her face in his shoulder to muffle her soft whimpers. It was normally after her father's weekly business meetings at the manor that they would meet after all, when Petyr would take the scenic route past Sansa's room to exit the manor. They couldn't have any of the house members (high born or servants alike) hearing Sansa's moans coming from wherever they chose to hide that day. 

A part of Sansa told her that this was wrong. That an unmarried woman should not be doing such illicit things with a man barely younger than her mother. But another part of Sansa craved the pleasure he gave her. Reasoning that Baelish told her tales of married men who did much worse things with women who were not even their wives. Surely if Sansa prayed hard enough each Sunday, these sins would be forgiven and she wouldn't go to hell like the ungodly Lord Baelish might for touching the young girl in such ways. Although more and more recently, she was forgetting to pray at all. 

Petyr liked to tell her of all the extravagant parties he threw, and all of the appalling and invigorating tales that came with them. Sansa once asked with wide eyes if she could attend one of these parties. 

"One day," he had told her, "when the time is right and we'll be able to get away with it, I'll bring you to one of my parties. I promise you," 

It looked like the time was right now, then. Butterflies fluttered around in Sansa's stomach, the anticipation making her almost hyper. 

Another note had been slipped under her door along with the invitation, written not in pressed ink like the invitations, but handwritten in Petyr's own loopy and elegant writing. 

Sansa, 

I am sure it goes without saying that you must not tell anyone about this party or your invite. Once you have memorised the information I must request that you burn this note and hide the invite somewhere completely safe. Keep it on your person if you must. Make sure you wear your hair up and do not arrive in a bright dress that will attract too much attention, we do not want anyone knowing who you are. I am afraid I can't make arrangements for your arrival, but I will be able to escort you home. Certainly you can come up with something though, you are a very smart girl. 

Petyr

After thoroughly reading through both letters, Sansa threw the hand written note into the fire that had already been drawn in her room, and shoved the invite down the front of her corset. Sitting back on the bed she tried to return to her book, but her mind wouldn't focus on the words on the page, involuntarily wandering to where she was going on the 23rd of September. 

 

\----------

 

In the end, she couldn't keep this party a secret from absolutely everyone. It wasn't that she wanted to tell anyone, but she was going to need help if she was going to sneak out of the manor that night. Sansa was a little ashamed at herself that she had broken Petyr's trust, but she had no choice, and Arya was no telltale. 

Arya snuck out almost every night, and she was a master at it. The only reason Sansa knew of her escapades was because she tried to sneak out one night to visit Lord Baelish when he once stayed at the Stark manor overnight (much to Catelyn's dismay). They gave each other the old "I won't tell if you don't," and were on their ways. Sansa wondered where her sister went every night though. In the songs, girls who snuck out at night went to visit a lover, a little like Sansa's situation, but Arya was far too boisterous to want a romance surely?

The youngest Stark girl had agreed to help her sister out, on the condition that she gets an invite to the next party Sansa goes to. A small price to pay and Sansa was more than willing to agree, explaining the situation to Petyr may be a little difficult though. 

It was getting rather late when Arya decided that it was the best time to go. At eight o'clock the Stark girls retired to bed. At least, that's what they told their mother. Instead, Arya runs to her room to get a change of clothes before returning to her sisters chambers where they would wait until it was time to leave. Sansa had begun to get ready for the ball when her sister knocked on the door. When Sansa flung open the door and pulled her sister in, she noticed the woollen trousers that would only just cover up her knee. 

"Arya!" Sansa hissed, "you aren't planning on wearing that out are you?" 

"Why not?" The fourteen year old questioned. 

"Because- you can't show your shins, you're a respectable lady! Not to mention the daughter of the Lord Keeper, what if someone were to see you?"

"What if someone were to see you? You'll be in a rather precarious situation at that party I imagine," Arya retorted, beginning to strip off and change into her boys clothing. 

"There would be more of a scandal if Lord Stark's daughter was seen galavanting around as a boy at night than if his other daughter was seen at a party," Sansa lied, knowing full well of the awful things that went on at Littlefinger's parties and the trouble she would be in if she was caught at one. 

"I've been doing this for months now and I've never been caught, stop being so ridiculously boring!" Arya began to shout, but quickly shut her mouth as the bedroom door quietly opened. 

The girls froze as Sansa's personal maid blinked at the two girls who were both half dressed to go out for the evening. 

"Does... My lady need some assistance getting prepared for her evening? If not I can leave if you wish, I just heard the shouting and..." The foreign girl trailed off. 

"Will you tell mother Shae?" Sansa asked, her voice softer with fright. 

"No, my lady. It is you that I serve, not your mother," 

Sansa breathed a sigh of relieve, whilst Arya butted in. 

"Her and father are the ones that pay you though," she stated pointedly. 

"That may be true, but I care for my lady much more than I do for the mistress. If you'll forgive me for saying such things," 

Arya shrugged and flopped back onto Sansa's bed, wiggling her hips to get into her cotton shorts. 

Shae stepped into Sansa's room and closed the door behind her. "If I can be of any assistance my lady, you need only ask," 

"Actually yes," Sansa tells her, "I'll need my hair doing, could you do a braided bun for me? You do that ever so pretty," 

"Of course my lady. I'll wait until you have changed into your gown." Shae bowed her head and waited in front of the door, hopefully with the intention to hold it shut if anyone were to try and enter the room. 

The foreign maid came into Sansa's service only a couple of months after the Stark's had moved to the capital. Sansa liked Shae a lot. Despite being a lady's maid she was the only person Sansa could openly talk with about her feelings. They had been through a lot together, Shae had been there after every beating from Joffrey, every judgemental lecture from Cersei, every time her parents didn't have time for her. There were some things Sansa couldn't share with even Shae though. Her secrets with Petyr Baelish. If she ever found out... Well she'd probably just be disappointed in her. And disappointment cut deeper than any anger could. 

Sansa dressed in the darkest gown she had, a grey silk adorned with white lace. It was modest, the lace covering up most of her chest and the sleeves fanning out just below her elbows, but it was classy enough for a party. For his party. 

She wore no jewellery aside from a pair of diamond earrings that had been a birthday gift from Jon, and her shoes were a pair of plain white slippers. Comfortable enough to move in and pretty enough should they somehow be seen underneath her long skirts. Sansa had a black cloak that she would wear whilst travelling to the ballroom, to help keep herself unnoticed. 

Once she was dressed, she sat down on her vanity and called for Shae to do her hair. She sat still and proper like a lady should, whilst Arya slouched on the bed, huffing and flicking through one of Sansa's old illustrated books. Sansa enjoyed getting her hair done. Truth be told she was not much good at doing hair herself, so it always fascinated her to watch someone as skilful as Shae twist her locks around expertly, turning her hair into some beautiful art piece. 

The simple elegance of the braided bun made Sansa beam at herself. She looked like a proper lady, Lord Baelish would surely find her stunning, and hopefully he wouldn't be able to take his eyes off her. At the dinner parties that her family held it was different, she was still treated like a little girl. Dressed in pink velvets and her hair tied up in ribbons, it was a wonder that a sophisticated man like Lord Petyr could look past that to see her beauty. But now, as she stared at her reflection, she looked as if she could be old enough to be his wife and not his daughter. The thought of becoming Lady Baelish made her blush and smile a little. But of course that could never be. Even if that was what Petyr wanted from her, her family would never allow it to happen. 

It was a pity her face would be covered. It was a masquerade ball after all. Earlier in the week Sansa had snuck off whilst shopping with her mother and her group of highborn friends to buy the pretty (yet terribly expensive) mask. Embarrassingly she had had to hide it her undergarments-which made walking a terribly uncomfortable experience, but so long as no one found out, she supposed it didn't really matter. Shae didn't question the mask or why she'd need it, only placed it upon her face and tied the silk ribbon in a bow upon her plaits. 

Sansa grinned at herself in the mirror. She looked just like a mysterious beauty from a story book, able to entrance men and bend them to her will with a single look. The mask was made out of titanium as black as the night sky, curled into swirling patterns, covering her forehead to her nose. It was an unusual material to be used for a fashion piece, but Sansa supposed that it was more special that way. 

Once ready, Sansa stood and turned to her sister with a smile. "Shall we go?" She asked, donning the black cloak and almost bouncing in her place at the thought of going to a proper adult masquerade ball. 

"Don't be stupid!" Arya scoffed, "mother and father are still awake. We'll be caught if we try to go out now." 

And so Sansa sighed and flopped down onto her velvet and mahogany seat by the window, gazing outside and tapping her fingers impatiently, worried that if they didn't leave soon then the party would be over. 

Shae asked if Sansa wanted her to stay or leave, and Sansa kept her in the room to keep her company. As much as she didn't squabble with her sister as often now, she was hardly good company. The siblings didn't have much in common, and often found it difficult to converse for long amounts of time with each other. 

It must have been about 11 o'clock when Arya bounced up from the bed and declared that it was probably safe for them to leave. 

"Finally," Sansa huffed. 

"Do you need me to escort you out, my ladies?" Shae asked kindly. 

"No, thank you Shae. Thank you for all of your help this evening." Sansa replied, giving the foreign woman a genuine smile. 

Shae nodded and left the two girls with a curtsy, before leaving to head to the servant's quarters for the night. 

The manor was pitch black during the night. No candles were lit for no one was supposed to be awake to need them. If the young girls hadn't spent months previously exploring the large house then they would have gotten very lost trying to navigate it on this dark night. Arya took the lead, certain of what to do as she repeated the steps she must take almost every night. They snuck out of a back door, one that was used by the servants as they left the house. "It'll make less noise than the giant oak front doors," Arya had explained. 

Sansa shivered as the cool night air hit her skin. It wasn't much lighter outside, and as Arya tugged her sisters hand, guiding her off the Stark estate and onto the complex streets of London, the older girl found herself getting nervous. Two young highborn girls alone on the streets of London this late at night... In the dark like this they could be robbed or raped or murdered. Or even a horrifying mix of all three. Her anxieties grew worse as they had to pass a tavern full of loud drunks, but apparently the men inside were enjoying their ale too much to come outside and happen upon the Stark sisters. 

They seemed to walk for hours, and Sansa could feel her feet getting tired in her party slippers that were definitely not meant for walking such distances. Eventually, Arya pulled her into the back alley of a blacksmiths shop. The younger Stark stepped up to the back door and knocked rhythmically, as if tapping out a secret code. The door rattled after a moment and swung open to reveal a young man with coal black hair around Sansa's age. 

"Gendry!" Arya greeted with a grin, "thanks again for agreeing to help us out tonight," 

"It's not a problem. I hope I can be of good service to you milady," the young man murmured, nervously glancing towards Sansa. 

Sansa looked at the boy called Gendry, and then at Arya, and then back to Gendry. 

"You were sneaking out to see a boy?" Was all Sansa could think to blurt out. It was rude and unladylike, and she blushed and regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. 

"It's not like that!" Arya protested fiercely, "and if you want any help getting to this stupid party of yours then you had best be nice to him," 

"Fine then, I apologise for my rude comment," Sansa amended.

"There's nothing you've said that needs an apology milady," Gendry said, still unable to make eye contact. Clearly he was not used to being in the company of a proper highborn lady (Arya surely mucked about with him like a common street rat) but he didn't seem to be an unpleasant boy by any means. 

"Well then, as much as I love standing around in back alleys, I would rather like to get to this party before it ends," Sansa commented drily. 

"Of course milady. We've a carriage 'round front that will get you to King's Road in no time at all. You and your sister can go get in it now and I'll fetch a horse from our stables to drive us," 

"Sansa can go and wait in the bloody carriage, I'm coming to help you fetch the horse," Arya stated. 

"Oh you are now are you?" Sansa questioned with a suggestive quirk in her voice. 

Arya swatted her sisters arm and politely told her to "fuck off". 

Sansa did as Arya suggested and left the pair to walk around to the front of the shop. True as Gendry's word, there was a carriage parked in front of the left side of the shop. It was pretty bog standard, nothing like the fancy things that Sansa was used to riding in, but it would do. If it could get her to The Mockingbird Ballroom then she would be satisfied. 

Hitching up her skirts, as to not sully the dress, Sansa clamoured into the carriage. She wondered, as she sat on the wooden seat, if Petyr was waiting for her. Anticipating the moment that she would saunter into the ballroom dressed in her fine silk and lace so that he could sweep her away for a dance... Probably not. Surely Petyr Baelish had better things to do, better people to talk to than her. Would he even notice if she didn't show up? No, no. He surely would notice, wouldn't he? He had gone through the effort to invite her, surely he must care. 

Sansa fretted over Petyr the whole ride there. Arya rolled her eyes and asked why Sansa was getting so antsy in her seat. 

"I'm not!" Sansa protested, although she knew that she was. She changed the subject immediately to distract the attention from her. "That friend of yours, Gendry, he seems quite nice," she admitted of the boy who was driving at the head of the carriage. 

Arya shrugged, "he's okay I guess," but Sansa could see the blush spreading across her sister's face, even in the black of night. 

"I suppose he best look out, you're bound to set a bad influence on him" Sansa teased her sister fondly. 

"You're one to talk about bad influences! It's not me who's sneaking out to one of Littlefinger's parties, I'm just going to do some fencing with Gendry. I might be young but I'm not stupid, I know exactly what goes on in that Mockingbird Ballroom," 

Sansa shifted uncomfortably as the topic of conversation easily swerved back to her and Littlefinger. 

"It's not like I'll be taking part in any of those... Activities. I'm only going because Lord Baelish so graciously invited me." She defended. 

"Why invite you though? You don't seem particularly close with him. Unless your having a secret affair," Arya's tone was teasing but Sansa couldn't let on that her sister had the absolute truth of it. 

"Don't be ridiculous!" Sansa tried to say in a joking manor, but her laugh was too fake, her tone too shrill. 

Thankfully Arya only gave her a strange look before dropping the conversation. The sisters didn't speak again for the rest of the journey, and luckily it was a short one, just as Gendry had said. 

Once halted, the smith opened the door for Sansa and offered out his hand to help the lady down, which was taken gratefully. 

"Thank you for this, Gendry," Sansa expressed her gratitude, "I'm afraid I have no coin to give you momentarily, but I could owe you? Or get you an invitation to Lord Littlefinger's next party if that's what you desired," 

"Milady is too kind, there's no need for payment," Gendry insisted, "I owed a debt to your sister anyway, so it'll be her wanting thanks for this," 

"She'll get her thanks. Have a good evening Gendry, and make sure my vexatious little sister doesn't drag you into trouble with her," 

The young man grinned and bid her goodbye, before clamouring back onto the front of the carriage and driving away. Sansa watched as her sister and her friend disappeared down the street, before turning to face the giant Mockingbird Ballroom. The young Stark gulped nervously as she say the huge line of people queueing down the streets to get in. Women with low cut bodices and scarlet painted lips on the arms of well groomed men garbed in velvet. Sansa had assumed that by this late at night the line to get in would have died down considerably. Clearly she had underestimated just how popular Littlefinger's parties were. 

At this rate, she wouldn't get in until the early hours of morning. But Baelish had gone out of his way to make arrangements for her tonight, and risked a lot by sending her that invite. Besides, she couldn't leave even if she wanted to. What would she do, walk home? She didn't even know the way. All Sansa could do was swallow her pride and join the queue.

A few people glanced her way, but not many seemed to care. It was both refreshing and relieving that no one recognised her, Sansa was so used to being the centre of attention, it was pleasant change to remain unknown and unwatched for once in her life. 

It wasn't long before Sansa realised that the line was not moving. At all. She started to panic, wondering if she would ever get in. If morning would come and she would still be standing outside the Mockingbird Ballroom. And then everyone would see who she really was, and she would be in awful trouble with her parents, the Lannisters, the press... Sansa considered walking to the front of the queue and telling someone, anyone who looked important that she was Sansa Stark and Petyr Baelish was expecting her. Of course she could never get away with that, she was much too intimidated by the people here, and she couldn't just give away her name lest anyone hear it.

The young girl was so busy fretting that she almost didn't hear the young man at her side speak to her. 

"Excuse me?" He asked. The boy had blonde hair and was dressed in a blue waistcoat and trousers. He was quite a pretty man, with that effortless grace and stunning features, much like Loras Tyrell. "Could I see your invitation please madame?" 

"My... My invitation?" Sansa repeated, suddenly panicking at the memory of where she had it hidden. 

"That's what I said," he confirmed with a cheery smile. 

"I... Could you perhaps, look away for a moment?" Sansa squeaked with embarrassment. 

"That sounds awfully shady," the boy laughed. 

"I um... I have it hidden... Down my corset," She whispered, looking down at the ground, her face flushing bright red. 

"No worries, I'm not overly fond of the company of women anyway, so you needn't be embarrassed my lady," he gave her a warm smile, but didn't look away. It took Sansa a moment to realise that she wasn't going to get any privacy from the young man for this, so she sighed as she quickly plunged her hand down her corset and pulled out the invitation. The blonde boy plucked it out of her fingers as she hesitantly held it out towards him. He skimmed over the words and smiled at her. 

"Just as I though," he said, "could you please follow me, my lady? Lord Littlefinger has been expecting you." 

Sansa took the arm that was extended out to her and walked with the young lad to the front of the queue. Now she was certainly getting stares, as people angrily muttered complaints of Sansa's special attention. The young girl looked down, away from their annoyed gazes, but her companion didn't even seem to hear them, keeping his eyes forward and his smile bright. 

The blonde boy muttered something in the ear of one of the guards at the door of the ballroom, and they were instantly let past. Sansa thought she saw one of the men looking at her with what seemed like respect, but surely she was imagining that. 

"You're a lucky lady you know?" The young man said as they entered the ballroom, "most of those other people won't even get in tonight, no matter how highborn they are. But Littlefinger's had me waiting outside for you all night. I'm Olyvar, by the way." 

"Sansa," Sansa replied, even though he already knew that, but it would have been impolite to not introduce herself formally. 

"Yes, he's told me all about you. Lost some bloody good business opportunities thanks to you as well, but that doesn't matter," Olyvar teased lightly, "can I take your cloak by the way? You can hardly go into a ball wearing that thing," 

Sansa hesitated, unsure if she trusted her good fur lined velvet with a complete stranger. The move however, didn't go unnoticed. 

"Don't worry! I'll take it to Littlefinger's personal cloakroom, and if you don't get it back by the end of the night, he'll give you 10 more in replacement, as well as my head," 

She giggled at the joke and found that she quite liked this new boy. After unclasping the cloak she passed it over to Olyvar who looked up and down at her now revealed dress. 

"He'll be impressed with that," Olyvar nodded approvingly, "the lace is a nice touch, I'm sure a lot of men will be chasing after you tonight." The boy stepped away from her and smiled. "You had best get going. It's the big door on the end, you can't miss it. I wouldn't keep him waiting, he's been looking forward to you company tonight." 

Sansa nodded and hurried down the corridor, calling out a reciprocated thanks and a farewell to Olyvar who was turning down a different corridor.

The doors leading into the ballroom were huge. Made out of oak with golden swirls and silver mockingbirds patterned onto it. Sansa could have admired the beauty for hours-Petyr certainly had a taste for fine things-but alas, she had a party to attend, and she had been made to wait for far too long.

Surprisingly, the doors were easily pushed open, and Sansa found herself on a balcony that stretched across the perimeter of the room, faced with the most exquisite ballroom she had ever seen. The walls and ceiling were adorned with elegant patterns crafted out of gold, five large crystal chandeliers hanging high above the crowd. The dance floor was a hard polished wood and the surrounding floor was a classy red carpet. Sansa wondered how much gold Petyr had to spend on getting the material cleaned after a party. A long table reached from one side of the room to the other, a lace cloth underneath a banquet of foods from all around the globe, some the even Sansa had never seen before in her life. 

The most eyecatching... Decoration was by far the two women with ebony skin, clinging stark naked to two golden curtains attached to the ceiling, performing some sort of dance routine amongst the fabric. Sansa stared in shock at the performance. She knew that women did things for the entertainment of men here, but she didn't expect it to be so open!

Snapping out of her wondering entrancement, she hesitantly made her way down the marble staircase that lead down from the ledge into the actual ballroom, and began to look around for Petyr. It was hard to try and distinguish anyone in this huge crowd, not to mention the fact that everyone was masked. She hadn't even been able to see the man from the balcony and she had no idea what he would be wearing. It could take all night for her to find him at this rate. 

She decided that the best course of action would be to wait by the banquet for him to come to her. As she fiddles with the lace on her sleeve nervously, a server comes up to her and asks if she would like a glass of champagne. 

"Um, n-no thank you," Sansa mumbles, unsure of where to look as the nearly naked girl smiles and then walks away. All of the servers there were naked, with the women only in skirts that dipped over one leg but was cut at the hip on the other, and the men with a rather translucent material tastefully tied at the crotch to hide their manhoods. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Sansa had to be impressed at the effort Petyr had put in to make sure every worker of his looked unique. All had different skin colours, hair colours, body types, heights and so forth. It was rather stately. 

It wasn't long until she heard that familiar smooth voice that sent tingles down her spine. 

"I was wondering when you would show up sweetling," Petyr called to her.

Sansa turned her head to the left to see Petry walking towards her, another man with darker skin and bright yellow clothing following behind. He looked simply stunning, dressed in green with a grey waistcoat. His own mask was much simpler than Sansa's, yet pretty and suited in it's own way; a green velvet strip that covered just his eyes adorned with golden swirls. The young girl couldn't hide her smile as the man approached. 

"It was difficult work, sneaking out of that house," she offered as an explanation as the men approached her. 

"As I can imagine. I wonder what your good Catholic parents would do to punish their perfect little daughter if she was caught sneaking out, let alone coming to an awful place like this," Petyr teased. 

"Let's hope that I won't have to find out," Sansa smiled, suppressing a fond giggle as the tall man behind Petyr remained looking at them. Littlefinger gave her a wolfish grin before turing to the stranger. 

"Prince Oberyn, might I introduce Sansa Stark, the eldest Stark daughter," Baelish presented on her behalf. Sansa felt her face grow red for not knowing the man- he was a prince after all! 

"My prince, it's a pleasure to meet you. I apologise if I acted rudely not to greet you-" Sansa began, looking to the side of the man abashed. 

"Nonsense, nonsense!" Prince Oberyn laughed, "forgive me for joining Littlefinger to meet you. I have heard tales that the eldest daughter of Stark is the most beautiful woman in Westeros. Even behind that mask of yours I can see that it is true. Even your hair, it is the perfectly unique shade-" 

"That's enough Oberyn," Petyr spoke with a sharpness that Sansa would never expect towards a prince, "you can try your bedding spiel on her if you wish but it won't work. Olyvar should be coming in soon, why don't you go and pester him for the night?" 

"Bedding spiel? You wound me, old friend! I was simply telling our lady the truth!" The prince chirped, "might I indulge in a dance with you, sweetest Stark?" 

"I'm afraid that honour will be mine. I have important things to discuss with lady Sansa," Petyr told Oberyn curtly. 

"Pah, more like you'll give her your own bedding spiel!" Oberyn chuckled, "no matter, I'm sure I'll have opportunities in the future to learn more about you, Sansa." The prince took Sansa's hand in his own and kissed it lightly, before bidding the pair goodbye and sauntering off into the crowd. 

"The brothel keeper and the Dornish prince. Now there's a pair I wouldn't expect to see togther," Sansa joked as Petyr took her hand and lead her to the dance floor. 

"You'd be surprised, sweetling, of all the people I know. Oberyn Martell happens to be one of the biggest investors in my little side business," he informed. 

Sansa couldn't say she was too surprised. During her time in London she had learned that most who were high on the political scale were awfully corrupt. Investing in a brothel was hardly as bad as the things she knew King Robert and Queen Cersei did. Prince Oberyn was practically a saint compared to them. 

As it turned out, Petyr was a very fine dancer. His feet moved with hers elegantly and perfectly in time with the music. Sansa didn't know why she hadn't expected it, the man was seasoned in everything, or so it seemed. The young girl couldn't help the smile that broke wide across her face as he spun her around and then held her close to his body. It all felt a bit surreal, a bit too perfect. She would have been sure it was a dream if it weren't for the adult entertainment that was making her a little uncomfortable in all honesty. But why should it? She had let the man she was currently dancing sweetly with do awfully sinful things to her body, watching those acts shouldn't have made her as uncomfortable as it did. 

"You said you had important things to discuss with me?" Sansa questioned as she twirled with the man.

"Yes, I do. But that can wait sweetling, let us enjoy this dance as carefree as we can, hm?" 

Sansa giggled, "I wonder if you told Prince Oberyn that just so you could have me to yourself tonight?" 

"I am a selfish man," Baelish admitted, "but I have never lied to the Dornish prince," 

"I find that hard to believe," Sansa jested. 

"It is true! I merely withhold information, that is all," 

Sansa rolled her eyes, "that's hardly different from lying," 

"The truth with chunks missing is still the truth, sweetling," he quirked an eyebrow and quickly brought her hand up to his lips. 

They finished the dance perfectly, and much to Sansa's surprise Petyr didn't let go of her. Instead he started to move again as the next song began. 

"I must say, you look absolutely lovely tonight Sansa. It was definitely worth the wait to see you again, although I have missed you sorely," Petyr told her. 

Sansa's heart fluttered with pride at the compliment and the fact that the cold, calculating Littlefinger missed her. "I confess that I have missed you too," she murmured, blushing a little. 

"I am almost tempted to bring you home with me tonight, but alas we cannot be too risky whilst your parents remain so protective of you," he murmured. 

"I do wish my parents didn't distrust you so," Sansa sighed, pulling herself closer to the older man. 

"I suppose I earn my mistrust, what with my... Unorthodox business practices," Petyr chuckled. 

"Yes, I suppose you do, you awful man," she agreed lightheartedly. 

"Yet here I am dancing with the daughter of Ned and Cat Stark, could I really be that awful?" He taunts. 

"Perhaps, Lord Littlefinger, you're just turning me into an awful girl," Sansa leaned in and whispered directly into his ear. The Lord smirked at her. 

"I do like the idea of that, sweetling. My awful little girl, what mischief we could get up to together,"

His tone made the girl shiver. "I think I would enjoy that. Although I'm not a little girl," 

"Yes, I know that well enough," that devilish grin she so loved graced his face as the second song ended. Sansa had barely finished the last move of the dance when Petyr tugged on her arm to guide her off the dance floor. "Come with me sweetling, I wish to show you something." 

Sansa followed willingly, letting Petyr lead her by the wrist through the crowded ballroom. He took her up the marble staircase, his pace growing quicker the longer they walked. Sansa was doing an odd sort of skip/jog to keep up with him, and she had to suppress the hyperactive giggles that were bubbling up in her stomach. She felt like a giddy child, excited and anticipated for whatever it was that Petyr wanted to show her. 

They ended up on an outside balcony, that was connected to the ballroom by an archway on the left wall. She was so focused on Petyr that she didn't even notice the freezing night air seeping through her lace clad skin and piercing her skin. The older man's touch left her skin and Sansa whined quietly, to which he gave her a soft smile, a promise that he would be back.

He reached behind his head to untie the velvet mask and he placed it on the balcony rail. She couldn't help but notice how beautiful he looked in the dim moonlight, green-grey eyes gleaming under a veil of long, soft lashes. True to his word he returned to her side, taking both of her hands into his own and brushing his lips against her own, a teasing taste of what she needed. 

He slowly sunk to his knees and Sansa's breath quickened, wondering if he was going to kiss her underneath her skirts like she had once seen Theon do with a lover back home in Winterfell. 

Instead he did something much more shocking. 

"Marry me, won't you Sansa?" He asked, producing the most beautiful ring she had ever seen, gold with flowers engraved into the metal, and five diamonds studded in a line, decreasing in size from the middle outwards. 

Sansa was almost in too much shock to speak. She had expected their love affair of sorts to last a while yes, but she had never imagined that the Lord would actually want to marry her! In a mixture of happiness, excitement, nervousness and fear all she could blurt out was: "are you quite mad?" 

"Perhaps, but I'm entirely certain of my decision." 

"But- my parents, and the Lannisters, and the Tyrells, and your low born status and-" 

"You needn't worry about all that. I've manipulated Robert into making me Duke of Harrenhall, a match between us becomes more and more likely the higher up in power I climb. The Lannisters and Tyrells won't be an obstacle for us, I've already got my excuses for why I would be a perfect husband for you and how it would benefit them. And your parents, well, if the King approves of the marriage who are they to object? Although, I was thinking that perhaps you would be able to convince them. Tell them the truth of how you feel towards me and I'm certain they won't try to interfere. Eddard did almost let you marry Joffrey because you though wanted him so much, after all," 

Sansa could only stare at the man below. It wouldn't work, would it? Surely even Petyr Baelish couldn't manipulate all these people to bend to his will. They had been so careful with all their secret meetings and Petyr was just willing to make their relationship public? It was risky, it was madness, it was... Chaos. 

"Do give me an answer, Sansa dear, I'm afraid my old knees are starting to ache." 

Sansa looked down at the man on the floor and took in his expression. Like the green velvet mask, he had also dropped the mental mask that he wore. The mask of Littlefinger. And the man below her was Petyr Baelish, all of his emotions clear on his face. She looked into his eyes and saw that he did truly care for her, perhaps even loved her. Sansa knew he was the best possible husband she could wish for, no matter who would object to them. A chaotic man for the girl who craved chaos. 

She was so ecstatic that she didn't remember how she said it. But she said yes.


End file.
